


New Year's Eve

by eyesfixedonthesun22



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Baking, Butcher Bucky, Cooking, Fluff, Widow Bucky, chubby bucky, handyman bucky, this is just really self indulgent, winter fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22060645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesfixedonthesun22/pseuds/eyesfixedonthesun22
Summary: Steve and Peggy have a good friend who’s a handyman that comes and helps you out.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 87





	New Year's Eve

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry to @nacho-bucky‘s writing challenge! My prompt was “The smell of cologne on warm skin”. Thanks for hosting darling Cait!

“Do you need any help washing the dishes?” Peggy calls from your living room. Her and Steve lay sprawled across your couch, fire crackling and spitting in the hearth, spilling warm light in the otherwise dim room. 

“I’m okay. The water pressure is still on the fritz. It takes so long to do them that I’ll end up doing most of them tomorrow.”

“It’s still-hic-broken?” Steve asks while rubbing his belly hoping to relieve some of the tension. 

You can’t help the soft chuckle. He always got belchy when he overstuffed himself on your chicken pot pie. Tonight was no exception. 

“The kitchen sink pressure is busted. The light switch for the second bedroom doesn’t work, my shower scalds me randomly. Ah the joy of owning an old house with  _ charm _ .” 

You’d moved to the small cozy town in upstate New York two years ago. Peggy and Steve lived a couple blocks away. After realizing that you and Peggy both worked at the same hospital, the two of you had become fast friends and Steve came along with her. You were a nurse at the town’s Veteran’s Affairs Hospital, and she helped coordinate the hospitals volunteer department. You were frequent visitors at each other’s homes for dinner. 

“Really hun you should get those fixed.” 

“I know. I’d fix it myself but electrical and plumbing are where my homemaking abilities stop.”

“I know someone who could help.” Steve chimes in. “I think he’s free tomorrow. He usually takes Sunday’s off from the shop and does some handyman work on the side. I could text him?”

You pause for a moment contemplating. Normally you’d balk at hiring help but if Peggy and Steve endorsed this handyman then he was trustworthy enough to let into your home where you lived alone. Probably kind enough not to comment on any mishaps you’d made in maintaining on your own either. Besides, you weren’t getting anywhere solving the issue on your own. You kept telling yourself that you’d set something up on your days off or take a look at it after your shifts. That had been happening since you’d moved in. 

“Fine. Send him over.” 

* * *

“The sink first? No, the shower?” You scratch out your writing and reorder the to do list on the house once more when a firm knock nearly startles you out of your seat. 

You aren’t sure what you’re expecting when you throw the door open in the late December cold, but it certainly isn’t James Barnes. 

He’s a tall man. Nearly appearing to fill your doorway before you invite him in. While he takes off a bright red knit cap and gloves, you take a moment to study him further. He folds the hat and gloves with a delicate reverence and large calloused hands before tucking them both inside the pockets of his jacket. 

The planes of his face are that of a different era somehow. Softer. His full cheeks are flush and rosy. A stunning compliment next to the blue of his eyes. The brunette hair that was previously hidden by the winter hat falls nearly to his shoulders and curls at the ends ever so slightly. He’s clearly a strong man but it’s blanketed by a soft belly that strains the waist of his pants where his flannel is tucked. 

“James, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stands politely in the entryway of your home glancing around a moment before you realize he’s waiting for instructions. “Steve said you needed some help with plumbing and electrical work.” 

“Ah yes! I made a list but I’m not sure what will make the most sense to start with.” You start towards the kitchen but don’t hear any footfalls behind you. “James?”

“I only have my boots,” he says plainly while staring at the footwear. “They’re covered in snow. I don’t want to track it in.” 

“Just leave them by the door.” 

You could have sworn you saw the rosy blush in the large man’s cheeks deepen. There was something strangely intimate about seeing him pad towards you in his woolen socks, toolbox in hand.

You’d shown James your list and it had been as if his entire demeanor had shifted. He asked you quick questions, took notes, looked at and studied the defective appliances. Gone was the shyness. Instead was a confidence and assuredness you found pleasing. You found yourself wondering why you’d waited so long to get these things fixed in the first place. 

The afternoon had gone by with light snow flurries falling on top of the white blanket already coating the ground. You lit a fire once more and baked some molasses cookies. It was a warm spiced recipe you hadn’t had since your childhood. The task gave you something to do with your hands while a stranger roamed around in your bathroom; dangerously near your shampoo. When the cookies were iced you found yourself placing a small pile onto a smaller plate and walking to the bathroom. 

“Cookies?”

“These look wonderful.” 

He wipes his hands clean and before you can blink, he inhales two of the cookies. “These are the best cookies I’ve ever tasted.” 

“I think you’re flattering me.”

“I’m serious! My wife wasn’t much of a cook. She used to burn nearly everything. I had to do most of the cooking, or we went over to Peggy and Steve’s. Before they moved up here of course.” 

“I can send the recipe home with you. So, she can try to bake these.” 

You aren’t sure what you’ve said but his face falls for a moment before regaining a small sad smile. “I’ll take the recipe, but she won’t be baking them I’m afraid. My wife, Natasha, she passed away five years back.” 

“I’m so sorry, James. I didn’t know.” 

“It’s okay. Steve doesn’t talk about her much. He took it really hard. Blames himself. They used to work together you see.” 

You absently grab a cookie to avoid saying something else foolhardy. These two years with Peggy and Steve and not once had they mentioned James nor his wife Natasha or this past life. Some wounds must really run deep. 

“You’re in your head,” James says nudging your shoulder. You hadn’t realized how close the two of you had gotten in the small space. At this range you could smell his cologne. There was something woodsy about it. Like clean pine needles and amber. You found yourself knowing he’d be wonderful to be wrapped up in on a cold day like today while the snow falls in front of your fireplace. You cursed yourself for the indulgent thought after just learning the fate of his wife. 

His smile warms you once more. “I’ll have to come back. The plumbing tasks were more complicated than I anticipated, and I’ll need to go pick up parts. Does tomorrow work for you? I know it’s New Year’s Eve, but Steve said you were eager for it to be fixed.” 

“I’m gonna kill that man when I see him.” 

“I know the feeling.” 

James’s laugh was one you felt reverberate from deep down in his chest. The thing seemed to fill him up and warm his cheeks once more from the inside. 

“I’m free tomorrow.” 

***

This time when James knocks on your door you’re ready for the blue of his eyes to knock you off your feet. He nearly bounds through the door; following a similar routine as the day before. He folds the red hat and gloves neatly and places them in his jacket pocket, but this time removes his boots and sets them confidently on your shoe stand. 

“I was thinking of getting started on the kitchen tasks if that’s okay with you.” 

* * *

“Oh shit. Shit shit shit.” 

“Everything okay?” James voice sounds from the cabinet under your sink.

“Well Peggy and Steve asked me if I’m willing to cook this very specific dish for their New Year’s Eve party and I said yes a while back, but I’d forgotten about it until now.”

“And the party is tonight. And all the stores and closed.”

“How’d you guess?”

“Well first, it is New Year’s Eve. And second, I’m going too.” He pauses sheepishly enjoying your mild panic. You hurry about the kitchen opening and closing various cabinets trying not to trip over his tools that are scattered in front of the sink. “What if I finish up here and then you come down the shop and I’ll let you get what you need there?”

“The shop?” 

You vaguely remember Steve saying that this was something his friend did in his spare time, but you hadn’t paused to ask what his primary job was. 

“My butcher shop. I own the shop on the corner of Miller and Melrose in town.” 

“The really beautiful one? Blue and white building? Red letters?”

“That’s the one. But really, it’s nothing. Plus, then I can say I helped and then my store-bought cookies won’t seem like such a consolation dish.” 

“Deal.” 

* * *

The shop is dark and quiet; closed for the New Year’s holiday. You’d made several protests on the drive over to James about the inconvenience, but he’d shrugged them all off. 

“What’s the point of owning a grocery and butcher shop if I can’t help out my friends when they’re in need,” he said with a bright grin before disappearing into the back room to get you the cuts of meat you’d ask for your braised short rib recipe. You wondered when he’d crossed from your handyman into friend. Then again, he’s Steve and Peggy’s friend. And he is awfully easy to talk to. Perhaps he is a friend already. 

You quickly threw everything you needed into your tote. His shop was small but well stocked with everything you needed. You hesitated at the small old-time cash register. Surely, he’d let you pay. He had to. You set the bag on the counter and, against your instincts, go behind the counter and into the back room. 

“James, I need to know how much I owe you. Come ring me up?” you joke. 

Your laughter is cut off slightly when you find him hunched over a large stainless-steel table, clad in a black rubber apron, slim sharp knife in hand and a full side of beef on the table. He’s at work slicing and cutting. 

It’s a grace you’d never have guessed his large frame and calloused hands capable of possessing. Before, you’d seen the brute strength he’s capable off with the other chores at the house, but this was different. Each stroke was deliberate. Each knick, precise. He could have done this with his eyes closed.

“Just the short ribs or did you want some extras for later in the week for yourself while I have this out.” 

You startle a bit clearly engrossed in watching his hands make quick work of the animal. “You really didn’t have to get this all out for me. I feel horrible.”

“Well I knew the boys had already closed up last night, holiday and all. I don’t mind. Really.” His blue eyes finally look up from the knife work into your own. “Let’s get you some steaks and stew meat.” 

“Are you coming over for pot roast and steaks?”

“Is that an invite?”

It was hard to guess who was blushing more. 

* * *

“I’m gonna need to be here in the kitchen while you work if these are going to be done on time for dinner. Is that okay?”

“Of course. It’s your house, doll. Besides, I’m nearly finished and I’m sure the smells will be amazing.” 

You go along slicing the onions and searing the short ribs until they’re caramelized a deep brown on the outside. The onions get added and a hefty amount of garlic next. It’s about this time that James pops his head out from under the sink. 

“All done. Plus, that smell is heavenly. What is it?”

“Garlic and onion.” 

You add in the red wine to the heavy bottomed dutch oven and throw the dish into the oven for the next two hours. It’s shockingly easy to pass the time with James until the short ribs are done. The only difficult thing is swatting James away from the oven from “checking” on them every twenty minutes or so. 

Steve and Peggy only live a short walk away but it’s blustery cold and halfway down your block you can feel your ears are stiff and red with chill. James has offered to carry the dutch oven full of short ribs and you carry his box of cookies. 

“You didn’t bring a hat. Did you?”

“I’ll be okay. The walk isn’t far.”

He sighs before stopping and setting the crock on the sidewalk and removes the knit cap from his head. His mitten covered hands don’t give you a chance to voice your protest before he’s dragging the material onto your head and over your ears. In seconds they could scream thank you for having a barrier to the wind. 

“Thank you, James.” 

* * *

“Why are you wearing his hat?” Peggy exclaims before you can get your whole body through the door. 

“Because my ears nearly fell off my head?”

“That’s the hat Natasha knitted him. He nearly went on a murderous rampage when he left it on a city bus one time. I know you don’t quite comprehend what that means but it’s serious.”

You glance across the room looking at James.

He’s engrossed in a conversation with Steve. His plump cheeks are a pink as ever. You’d learned that it never really goes away. You found it rather endearing. He looked beautiful with a flush on his skin. Steve must have said something funny because James’s little belly jumps up and down with each chuckle that tumbles from his lips. He certainly doesn’t look like someone capable of murderous rampage. 

“I’m starting to think that maybe Steve should have suggested Bucky’s handyman services sooner.”

“Bucky?”

“His nickname.”

“Yeah well...so am I.”

* * *

The dinner party is small. New Year’s is rung in with drinks, laughter, and friends. Everyone enjoyed the braised short ribs and even Bucky’s (you’d teased him calling him this for the first time) cookies got sufficiently nibbled on. 

“Can I walk you home?”

“Is James walking me home or is Bucky?”

You can’t tell if it’s the party jubilations, but you swear you see an eye roll as he playfully pushes you towards the door and your hosts. Steve wraps you in a massive hug, Peggy plants a kiss on your cheek and everyone says their goodbyes and Happy New Year’s. 

The blustery wind from before has died down and the snow falls in delicate flakes undisturbed except from your footfalls. The world seems blanketed in a cold snow globe of silence. 

“You know you had to walk back to my place anyway, right?” You finally break the silence. “Your truck is there, ya goof.” 

He slips an unmittened hand into yours before saying, “Yeah, but I wanted to anyway.” 

“Peggy told me about your hat and gloves.” 

“ Natasha took up sewing and knitting. She was good too; quick with her hands, I guess. She wanted to have a repair shop one day. Said she liked that being a seamstress almost always meant putting things back together and being a fixer.”

“That’s a really beautiful way to look at it. I managed to learn sewing pretty well but knitting I never mastered.  Natasha must have been a special lady. I could only manage straight lines and barely that. There’s a graveyard of Frankenstein mittens lurking somewhere upstairs at my place.”

With that you earned what was becoming one of your favorite sounds; his booming laughter. 

James comes in at the promise of a hot toddy; as repayment for saving the day. The two of you are sat in front of the fire on your couch when, in a stroke of boldness, you pull his arm over your shoulder. Leaning into his side you can once again smell his cologne wafting off the warm skin from his neck; sweet amber mixing with the bourbon and cinnamon of the drinks and something deeper. 

“Is this okay?”

He sighs a contented sound and nuzzles you closer into his soft side. “This is okay.”


End file.
